


i want trees instead of gravestones (and nothing to confess)

by strifescloud



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 20:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strifescloud/pseuds/strifescloud
Summary: Vincent slowly gets more and more flowers.They vary in their outlook, some a reflection upon the past, some a wish for the future. He comes back with anemone crawling up his ribcage (forsaken, he murmurs to Cid one night), gladiolus blooming across his shoulders, a mix of statice and Queen Anne’s lace right beneath where his pink ribbon rests, then more that Cid doesn’t recognise.The night after a new blossom finds its place on his skin, he tells Cid a little more.





	i want trees instead of gravestones (and nothing to confess)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [you're stuck in my head (stuck on my heart, stuck on my body)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6974143) by [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard). 



> g r e e t i n g s
> 
> i really enjoy writing for these boys to be honest, and y'all were so lovely about the last one i decided to smash out another
> 
> i also wanted to ignore my thesis. @ my supervisor im sorry
> 
> if you guys are MCU fans i also STRONGLY suggest you check out the fic this was inspired by, cause it is truly perfect and i loved it to pieces and when the idea of it with vincent and cid hit me on the bus i just had to start writing IMMEDIATELY

In hindsight it was foolish of Cid to assume that he’d be any less busy once the whole Meteor business had been dealt with.

Even after they had saved as many as they could from the wreckage of Midgar, relocating them to a settlement just outside the city, the need for an Airship was still too great for Cid to tell them to go fuck themselves and head on back to Rocket Town for a well-deserved _rest_.

Though if he was being honest, that wasn’t the only reason he stayed in close contact with the rest of AVALANCHE.

The soft touch of a hand on his shoulder breaks him out of his thoughts.

“Hope I'm not disturbing you.” Vincent’s deep voice rumbles from behind him, hand trailing down Cid’s arm only to disappear again into the folds of Vincent’s cloak.

“Nah, always got time for you. Need something?”

He lets the sentence fall easily from his lips, forgetting for just a moment to be embarrassed of his open affections.

Planet knew Vincent needed to hear it more often, anyway.

Vincent shuffles slightly closer, peering over Cid’s shoulder at the dials that rest behind the ship’s wheel, silent. His metal boots click softly as he crosses the length of the bridge, staring down at one of the maps that perpetually sits on top on navigation console.

He remains silent. Cid waits, watching the clouds drift past the slowly setting sun.

“Can we stop in Kalm?”

It's unexpected, but Cid tends to like Vincent’s surprises. He taps his finger against the wheel in thought.

“What’s in Kalm?”

He looks over, watching Vincent’s sharp golden claw slowly trace over the Eastern Continent’s coastline. Vincent hums slightly before he answers, expression contemplative.

“Someone.”

Vincent’s claw trails down the map to rest on Kalm, tapping pointedly on the precise lettering.

“You’re real mysterious today, ain’t ya?”

Vincent laughs ever-so-quietly, the sound rough but warm in the otherwise empty bridge.

“You wouldn't have me any other way.” He replies, mouth hidden behind the oversized collar of his coat but a smile audible in his voice. Cid can't help but answer it with his own smile, turning back towards the still-setting sun.

“Nah, I wouldn't. Kalm it is.”

* * *

Cid wakes in the middle of the night when a metal claw brushes along his back.

He bites back the instinctual hiss at the sudden cold as he rolls over, peering into the darkness at the other side of the bed. Vincent is sitting upright, dark hair spilling over his pale shoulders. Pale slivers of moonlight filter through the dirt-stained windows of Cid’s quarters, surrounding him like a halo as he stares blankly down at his hands.

His claw traces the lines of his scars as they trail up his flesh arm.

“Vince, sweetheart,” Cid manages, voice rough, too disoriented to avoid letting the endearment slip past his lips though he always fears they make Vincent skittish, “what’re you doin’?”

He reaches out for Vincent’s arm only to be deftly evaded, Vincent slipping out of his grasp so that Cid reaches only his metal hand instead.

“I am...troubled.” Vincent murmurs, barely loud enough to be heard even in the silence of the room.

“I ain’t blind, I can see that.” Cid replies, untangling himself from the blankets and sitting upright to face Vincent properly. The faint glow of Vincent’s eyes allow Cid to see them slowly flit around the room until they come to rest on his face.

“I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

“Hell, I’m not going to be able to just go back to sleep while you’re sittin’ here worrying about something.” Cid insists, closing the distance between them. He softens his voice, ducking his head to hold Vincent’s gaze when it seems it might slip away from him. “You got somethin’ you wanna talk about?”

Vincent’s mouth twists as he finally looks away.

“Only memories,” he replies, “hardly worth voicing.”

“It’s worth it if they’re troublin’ you.”

Vincent doesn’t reply, but if Cid doesn’t pursue this he fears he will lose it.

“Y’got a lot of shit in your head, I know that. More than I do, that’s for sure, probably more than I’m gonna understand. But fuck, Vince, we’re doing this, you and me, and that means I wanna share it all with you. Good shit, bad shit, all of it.” It sounds awkward coming out of his mouth and he fumbles, stumbling over the words, “I mean- it- you don’t have to talk about it. If you don’t want to. But I think it might be-”

“Cid.”

“It might be good. For you. If you did one day.”

The metallic grip on his hand tightens, pulling it over to rest on Vincent’s other arm where Vincent’s own hand had been moments before. Cid can feel the thick lines of scar tissue that stretch under his palm, twisting across the skin and up under the thin shirt that Vincent is wearing, and Cid suddenly feels a tightness in his chest.

“Not today,” Vincent near-whispers, stroking a metal thumb across the back of Cid’s hand as he holds it in place, “but soon.”

Cid nods, solemnly, and swallows down the feeling.

“Want me t’just sit with you for a while?”

That makes a ghostly half-smile flit across Vincent’s face, and Cid takes it as a yes.

Cid repositions his arm so that it curls around Vincent’s back, but his hand returns to the same place it was shown, tracing absent spirals into the scarred flesh. He rests his head on Vincent’s shoulder, feeling an arm snake its way around his shoulders.

He feels the urge to speak again rise in his chest but he pushes it down. It’s ridiculous, he knows, he _knows_ , but he’s feared all this time but that if he tells Vincent he loves him, it’ll scare him away.

He closes his eyes and they wait for the night to pass.

* * *

They touch down in Kalm late that morning. The sky that day is a cloudless, pale blue, the sun a harsh force against Cid’s skin and he can’t help but be grateful for the thin cotton of his shirt.

Vincent is fully dressed, red cloak billowing in the wind as they disembark the Highwind, seemingly unbothered by the heat.

“Now, where’re we goin’?”

“You’ll see.” Vincent replies, brow furrowed against the bright sun as he stares out into the streets.

“Like I keep sayin’, Vince. Mysterious. Full of secrets.”

“The aura of mystery adds to my outfit.” Vincent replies, a note of good humour in his tone.

Cid is so thrown by the statement that he almost misses Vincent striding off down a well-hidden back alley.

“Hey!”

He half-runs after him, following the trail of red fabric down the maze of tiny streets. His unease grows as the buildings grow shabbier, the eyes of the townspeople less welcoming, and he begins to fear that Vincent has led him into a rather unfriendly part of what is usually a friendly town.

“Vincent, seriously,” he murmurs, tugging on the back of Vincent’s cloak, “what the hell’s down here?”

“Don’t worry.”

“ _Don’t w-_ ”

Vincent stops suddenly, and Cid is forced to swallow the rest of his reply as he narrowly avoids running into him. Vincent turns, eyes alight with something Cid cannot hope to identify, and without breaking eye contact he reaches out to knock on the nearby door with his metal hand.

“We’re here.”

The door cracks open, just enough for one bright eye ( _Mako enhanced_ , Cid realises with a jolt) to peer out from behind it. Vincent turns again to meet its gaze and the figure backs away, allowing Vincent to push the door fully open and follow it into the ramshackle building. Cid reluctantly follows, as close to Vincent as a shadow, eyes darting around nervously.

 _Here_ turns out to be the most shithole tattoo studio that Cid has ever been in.

“ _Seriously?_ ” he hisses, and Vincent ignores him.

The hunched figure turns to stare at them again, the jagged scar that runs through one closed eye a sharp contrast to the Mako glow that filters out of the other. He ignores Cid entirely, shuffling closer to Vincent, who hands him a folded piece of paper.

“How enhanced are you?”

Vincent pauses, not long enough to be uncomfortable but enough to make a point.

“Extensively.”

“The strong stuff, then. Take a seat.” The man gestures to the grimy chair as Vincent begins unbuckling his coat, handing it off to Cid and yanking up the sleeve that covered his right arm. Cid watches in silence as Vincent settles himself in the chair, offering his arm to the artist as the man begins to set up.

The piece of paper sits unfolded on the desk. Cid catches a glimpse of flowers.

They wait in silence, Cid eventually finding a stool so he can sit by Vincent’s other side.

The artist tests the foot pedal once, twice, then stops. He stares at the paper for a long moment, eyes tracing the lines. Vincent gives him a nod, and just like that, he begins.

“You okay?” Cid asks.

Vincent hums noncommittally in response, but his hand flexes with a creak of metal as the needle passes over the first scar.

The same scar that Cid felt beneath his fingertips the night before.

He takes Vincent’s other hand.

“You heal fast.” The artist eventually notes as he turns for more ink, one eye flicking up to Vincent’s face.

“As I said, it was...extensive. The procedure.”

The artist nods, understanding, but there’s a shade of suspicion in his face.

“You weren’t in SOLDIER, were you?”

Vincent’s grip tightens on Cid’s hand.

“No.” He replies, tone final, and Cid feels the worry creep up his spine again. To his relief, the artist only snorts, returning to his work.

“We all got fucked one way or another by the program. Figured there was more going on that we didn’t see. At least you pulled through.”

“At least.” Vincent murmurs in acquiescence, and the silence falls between them again.

They are ushered out quickly when it is finished, Vincent placing a large wad of gil into the man’s hand as they slip out the door. The skin is already partially healed when Vincent tugs his sleeve back into place, pulling his cloak back over his shoulders as he turns to face Cid.

“You sure it’ll stick?” Cid asks, tone skeptical.

“I’m sure.” Vincent replies, seeming oddly serene as he steps past Cid, returning the same way they had come.

Cid sighs, pulling a cigarette from his pocket, and he lights it as he follows.

* * *

The skin is nearly healed by the time they make it back to Cid’s quarters that night, the lights in the ceiling flickering unsteadily as Cid flicks the switch on.

“Why those?” He asks as they dress for sleep, eyes locked on the pink petals that frame a white and yellow centre. They stretch across Vincent’s forearm, creeping up the joint of the elbow onto his bicep.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t strike me as the flower type, I guess.” He offers instead.

“Ah. These...can mean many things,” Vincent stops, staring down that the bright design etched into his arm as Cid draws closer, “daring, resourcefulness, courage, change. _Transformation_.”

“Sounds appropriate.”

“I thought so.” Vincent offers with a slight smile, stepping back slightly to shake his hair out of his customary headband. He pauses as he sets it down, seemingly working up the courage to speak, and Cid waits a long moment in patient silence.

“Lucrecia used to always talk about _transformation_. Of the subjects, of the future.”

Cid freezes.

“I don’t think she... _intended_ the transformation she did succeed at creating.” Vincent brought his hand up to rub at his chest, where Cid knew a starbust gunshot scar rested beneath the black material. “But still....maybe I’ve changed from what they made me. Become something new.”

Something in Cid’s chest seizes at the near-fragile tone Vincent’s voice takes, reaching forward before his mind can catch up. He cups Vincent’s face with one hand, watching red eyes turn downcast, grasping for something to say even though his mind has gone infuriatingly blank.

“Maybe there is change still ahead, beyond what was already done to me. Perhaps one day I will enact that change myself.” Vincent’s voice has dropped to a murmur, sounding more like he spoke to himself rather than Cid.

“I think you’re pretty fuckin’ perfect the way you are.” Cid counters, equally quiet, unwilling to break the fragile atmosphere that had fallen over the room. He stretches up to kiss Vincent, not on the lips for fear of silencing Vincent’s halting honesty but on the forehead, as gentle as he can make it.

He often feels awkward and rough around Vincent in the face of the other’s inhuman grace, his hands clumsy and perpetually stained with grease, but somehow Vincent doesn’t seem to mind.

He draws backwards, letting Vincent follow him back to sit on edge of the bed, intertwining their hands as he waits for Vincent to speak again.

Vincent takes one long, steady breath.

“I once thought it began with my assignment to the Nibelheim mansion, but in truth, it began with my father.”

Cid listens.

* * *

"How does it work, then?" He asks Vincent over dinner one night.

"How does what work?" Vincent replies patiently, still trying to slice his steak into near-perfect cubes.

Cid watches him for a moment, half-baffled even after all this time by Vincent's very  _particular_ approach to food, before he remembers to reply.

"The tattoos. Always figured you enhanced types would heal over or reject it or somethin' before the guy had even finished."

"That was the case for a long time," Vincent says, placing his cutlery delicately down onto the table, "especially as the company generally frowned upon...such visual modifications to its property." Cid frowns slightly at him, unnerved by the phrasing, but Vincent doesn't seem to notice. "No normal ink would ever work, and few had the opportunity to try anything that might yield some modicum of success."

"It's infused with Mako?"

"In varying amounts, depending on the level of enhancements."

Vincent's eyes take on a distant, glassy sheen.

"There's a scar, from before- it looks like Hojo tried to give his subjects serial numbers. I know Cloud has one similar - obviously he never cared enough to ensure it lasted." Vincent's mouth twists bitterly, and Cid feels suddenly sick.

"Will you," He clears his throat, voice unusually hoarse, "will you get that one done over?"

Vincent shakes his head slightly, the bitterness fading from his face.

"If it were still ink, I may have considered it. But just the scar...he never succeeded, even if just in that small task. Perhaps that reminder is best left to stand."

* * *

 Vincent tells him he has another appointment in Kalm a month later, and then another two months after that, and Cid ends up simply fitting it into a regular space on their schedule.

Vincent slowly gets more and more flowers.

They vary in their outlook, some a reflection upon the past, some a wish for the future. He comes back with anemone crawling up his ribcage ( _forsaken_ , he murmurs to Cid one night), gladiolus blooming across his shoulders, a mix of statice and Queen Anne’s lace right beneath where his pink ribbon rests, then more that Cid doesn’t recognise.

The night after a new blossom finds its place on his skin, he tells Cid a little more.

_I loved her, even when she married him._

_I don’t know how long he spent experimenting on me._

_She implanted Chaos in my body to revive me, but when I woke I wished that I had died to the bullet instead._

Cid sits across from him, Vincent’s hand curled within his own, and listens.

It’s one night, many months after the first, that Vincent returns to the Highwind with a particular lightness to his shoulders that Cid always attributes to the feeling of fresh ink.

“What’d you get this time?” Cid asks as Vincent slips through the door to their room.

“Something small.” Vincent responds absently, already getting  changed. His headband comes sweeping off to rest on a side table, cloak thrown over the back of the desk chair.

His possessions are scattered everywhere about the room. Cid doesn’t think of it as just his anymore.

Vincent tosses the shirt over the cloak, turning to face Cid and perching across from him, just as always.

There is a new splash of colour above his heart, a gorgeous lattice of red flowers with yellow stamen. The thin stems are a pale green where they’re visible beneath the intertwining blooms that stretch across the skin, a slight redness visible on the edge where the skin has not yet healed.

“Scarlet larkspur. They’re known as ‘fire followers’ - the seeds lay dormant for years, only to be germinated by a forest fire. Perennial, as well, so they can regenerate themselves from seeds or roots.” Vincent smiles, half to himself, looking down at their joined hands. “Sleeping for years, then born from flame and ash. It seemed apt.”

Cid stares.

Of all the things Vincent has ever said, it’s far from the most heartbreaking, or the most moving.

Something within Cid crumbles, still, with the quiet sincerity of the words.

He surges forward to kiss Vincent with unusual fervor, mouths connecting urgently as Cid tries to pour everything he wants to say into a single gesture.

In that moment, he forgets his fear.

“Fuck _,_ ” he whispers when they break apart, the need for air too great to ignore, “ _fuck_ , Vince, I love you.”

He remembers himself after that, feels his heart stutter with remembered nerves, but Vincent only reaches back towards him, pulling him back to kiss him again in answer.

“Cid,” Vincent says, pulling back slightly, and though Cid tries to chase him he feels Vincent’s metal claw running through his hair, the other hand warm on his face, and he stops.

Vincent locks eyes with him, deliberately, pronouncing each syllable with a deliberate weight as he speaks.

“I love you, too,” he says, lips curling into a smile, “even if you get nervous about the strangest of things.”

“S’not strange,” Cid insists, though his heart rate picks up again, “hell, a beautiful guy like you’d make anyone nervous.”

Vincent’s head tilts slightly, and Cid abruptly remembers that he can probably hear his heart beating.

“You’ve let me speak of my nightmares for many months now,” Vincent replies, leaning closer, “and never passed judgement.”

“I didn’t want to pressure you.” Cid begins, voice weak even to his own ears.

“I’m only ever where I want to be, now.”

 _With you_ , he doesn’t say, but Cid hears it nonetheless.

* * *

Cid wakes the next morning as the sunlight streams through the windows, the cool air of the cabin slowly warming as the sun rises further into the sky.

His hand runs slowly through Vincent’s hair, trying to smooth some of the tangles though he knows it to be an insurmountable task. He feels the metal against his side flex once as Vincent’s wakes, then again as he scrapes his fingernails soothingly against Vincent’s scalp.

“Morning, sunshine.” He rumbles teasingly, Vincent’s eyes blinking blearily at the far wall. He groans at the sound, turning his head towards Cid’s chest to block out the offending sunlight that had woken them.

Cid clears his throat slightly.

“Love you.” He says into the morning stillness, trying to make it sound like an offhand comment.

“You too.” He feels more than hears, Vincent’s voice muffled from where he’s buried his face in Cid’s side.

His hand leaves Vincent’s hair to trace the designs across his shoulders, feeling the slight scarring on the cool skin. He can hear noise from further into the ship, the sounds of the day crew getting ready, and he knows that he should get up and join them.

Vincent’s claws dig ever-so-slightly harder into his skin.

“A few more minutes.” Vincent grumbles, sounding on the verge of falling asleep again himself.

Cid feels for Vincent’s other hand, squeezing it once in wordless agreement.

A few more minutes couldn’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> IM SOOOO CHEESY IM SORRY....................
> 
> title from Big Houses by Squalloscope
> 
> thanks so much for reading my valenwind friends <3 you may find me on twitter @strifesodos or at strifescloud.tumblr.com as always if you also enjoyed these boys


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